I started writing more poetry back in 2018 and eventually published my first book of poems. I have found it incredibly helpful putting my thoughts and feelings into words. Currently working on my next book of poems, so do stay tuned.
Depression
Blind-sided by a black cloud falling over me,
Swallowing me whole, with nowhere left to flee.
If only there were something I could take
To make it stop, to give me one escape.
Finding the strength to reach out can be hard;
When breathing feels like living through a shard.
But somewhere deep, I know there’s someone there
To hear my voice, to listen, to care.
I don’t have to conquer everything today;
Sometimes surviving is enough, in its own way.
So breathe in slowly, let your body arrive—
Be gentle with yourself. You’re here. You’re alive.
It’s O.K.
Do you ever look into the mirror
And wonder, Is that really me?
Do you ever dream of being a bird,
Just spreading your wings
And longing to be free?
Do you ever feel nervous, on edge and alone,
So anxious and frayed
That you can’t leave your home?
Has your heart felt heavy
While your mind races on?
Have you sat in your car
And silently cried until the feeling was gone?
And then, on the flip side,
Are there days when no one can bring you down?
You strut instead of walk,
Wearing confidence like a crown.
I just want you to know,
Whatever feelings come your way,
There is nothing wrong with feeling them—
They’re all okay.
Life doesn’t have to be figured out
In one grand, perfect display.
Take a breath, take it slowly,
And live it day by day.
Yoga
Written for my special friend Lexi
Today, with a dear friend,
I practised yoga outside,
Working gently through each bend,
With the sunshine as our guide.
New asanas came my way,
Each one flowing into the next;
Feeling warmth upon my skin,
My body moving with my breath.
Feeling energy begin to flow,
Each movement calm and slow,
I found a balance I could trust
And finally perfected my crow.
Connecting deeply with my breath,
I quietened my busy mind;
Bending gently to the left,
Leaving tension far behind.
No clock, no need to rush the flow,
Just presence in the moment, free.
I set an intention: I believe.
And somehow, I believed in me.
My friend deserves a special mention,
Together, something shifted inside.
I left the mat feeling lighter,
More open, grounded, and free.
Two Under Two (The Rumour Is True)
They say two under two is hard…
Well, let me tell you, it’s an art.
The rumours? Yes, they’re all true.
Some days I wonder how I’ve held it in so long when I need the loo.
When both boys cry at once, oh my,
Who gets the cuddle? Who gets the try?
One needs milk, one wants a squeeze…
Can somebody clone me, please, please, please?
We’re finally dressed, the bags are packed,
I’ve even remembered snacks, imagine that!
Shoes are on, we’re out the door…
Then someone does a poo.
Of course.
Not just a poo — a full-blown scene,
The kind that needs a wipe-down clean.
Fresh clothes on, we’re good to go…
The baby’s hungry.
Don’t you know?
The double buggy’s long and wide,
It barely squeezes through doors with pride.
The looks I get could win awards,
Sorry my children came with wheels, not swords!
Sleep? I vaguely know her name.
These days, nothing feels the same.
Six whole hours? What a treat!
I’d probably wake before the sheet.
Hair ties, clips, they disappear.
There must be gremlins living here.
They steal the socks and hide away,
Returning absolutely none, I’d say.
“So, when are you going back to work?”
A question asked without a second thought.
I nearly laughed — I mean, come on…
Motherhood itself is work from dusk till dawn.
No sick days, no clocking out,
No annual leave when you’re worn out.
I worked the day after I gave life, thank you very much,
But somehow motherhood is still the job that never stops.
Why do we not live in an age
Where a mother gets to choose her page?
To raise her children without the pressure
Of being told she needs to return to work on someone else’s measure.
So, with kindness, here’s my view:
Please kindly back off, I’ve got enough to do.
No bad energy coming my way,
I’m choosing these days, come what may.
Pegs clipped on are always near,
Sunshine panic? That’s my fear.
Nothing makes your heartbeat race
Like checking a baby’s rosy face.
Breastfeeding’s beautiful, people say…
They sometimes miss the tears along the way.
The feeds, the doubts, the pain, the strain,
Yet somehow I would do it all again.
Then one of them smiles with all their might,
And suddenly the world feels right.
“Sleep when the baby sleeps.”
Oh, please!
Should I mop when mops grow knees?
Fold clothes that fold themselves?
Or watch the dishes jump on shelves?
Lipstick is my battle paint,
Helping me pretend I ain’t
Running on caffeine, hope and prayer,
With baby sick still in my hair.
If I squeeze ten minutes in the gym,
I’m practically Olympic slim.
Well… maybe not but it’s a win,
And that alone can make me grin.
Then there’s the ache I cannot hide,
The one that catches me inside.
I miss my mum more than words can say,
Especially on the harder days.
At baby groups and swimming too,
Grandparents cheer the whole way through.
I smile, but feel that quiet sting,
Wishing she could see everything.
Yoga helps me find some peace,
Meditation brings a little release.
Some days, breathing does the trick…
Other days? Chocolate and biscuits work just as quick.
“No screen time.”
It isn’t easy.
Some days life gets slightly crazy.
Now I see why iPads shine
No judgement here. We’ve all been fine.
But I’ve committed and remained quite firm,
Watching Ez pick through books in turn.
Stories dancing through his head,
Filling little dreams before bed.
When we eat out, the playing starts,
Cards are dealt with earnest hearts.
He waves and chats with everyone there,
Lighting up the whole room with care.
We practise Japanese with delight,
Listening to his words take flight.
Then homemade dinners, cooked with love…
Get pushed away.
For yoghurt. Of course.
At least the food has stopped being thrown.
Small victories must be known.
I’ve cried because they’ve both cried too.
Sometimes that’s just what mothers do.
I’ve laughed because if I don’t start,
The tears might simply play their part.
This life is messy, loud and wild,
Every tantrum, every child.
No one tells you marriage bends,
And tests your patience without end.
Coffee’s cold and clothes are stained,
That tidy house? It never came.
Some days I’m stretched so paper-thin,
Wondering where on earth I’ve been.
Yet every cuddle, every kiss,
Reminds me there’s no life I’d miss.
This crazy home, this noisy crew…
Because I’d choose it.
I’d choose these two.
Every. Single. Time.
So every morning, tired eyes,
I greet the day beneath new skies.
Ready and raring, come what may,
To love them through another day.
There’ll be more laughter, tears and strain,
More tiny hands held tight in mine,
More ordinary moments
That somehow quietly shine.
For it won’t be long before they roam,
Making a wider world their home.
One day I’ll no longer be
The centre of each memory.
They’ll need me less with every year,
Though I’ll forever linger near.
The days feel endless while they’re small,
Yet somehow they’re the shortest of all.
So I’ll soak in every sleepy sigh,
Every giggle, every lullaby.
Every sticky kiss, each tiny curl,
Every precious glimpse into their world.
Because while today I am their whole world,
A safe place where their dreams unfurl,
There’s one truth I know, both deep and true:
They’ll always be mine too.
No matter how the seasons turn,
Or how much independence they earn,
No distance, milestone, dream or mile
Could ever change a mother’s smile.
So let the rumours all be true.
It’s chaos, love and laundry too.
It’s harder than I ever knew…
But if I had the chance to start anew,
I’d still choose this.
I’d still choose them.
I’d still choose these special two.
my world
Sneak Preview from my new poetry book…
The Lost Dwarfs: A Cut-Rate Fairytale
They say there once were twelve of us, a marketing mistake,
a branding plan that Disney dropped before the morning break.
“Too many dwarfs,” they said with dread, “it won’t sell toys or charm,”
so five of us got axed that day, redundant, safe from harm.
Deafy was the first to go, I mean he really missed each cue,
but the truth is he never heard what they wanted him to do.
Baldy shone under studio lights, but not in Disney’s eyes,
“Not cute enough for Christmas mugs,” they said, with sugar lies.
Awful lived up to his name, that much I can confess,
he broke three props, forgot his lines, and stained snow-whites new dress.
Then there was me, Tubby then, though “not quite tubby right,”
so I ate my way through heartbreak cakes from morning into night.
They said, “Come back more rounded, dear, more jolly, plump, and sweet,”
so I did, biscuits, buns, and pies became my daily feat.
But when I returned, all hopeful, proud of every bite I’d chewed,
they said, “We wanted cartoon fat… not someone somewhat subdued.”
So I left with crumbs and chaos, and a newly fragile mind,
a tale of carbs and casting calls and dreams I couldn’t find.
They called it “method acting,” though I think that’s quite untrue,
there was nothing method crying in a bakery or two.
Now I sit and pet small creatures, quite serene, I must admit,
while life moves on in sequels that I did not quite fit.
As for the others, well, the story’s darkly split and strange,
some found fame, some found silence, some just vanished off the range.
Grumpy moved where people don’t, perfecting solitude,
Bashful found a quiet love in domestic interlude.
Sleepy never woke quite up to chase a brighter plan,
and Dopey still believes he’s part of Snow White’s management clan.
They say Happy took the spotlight, then the spotlight dimmed to black,
a cautionary glitter trail that he never made it back.
And Doc? Well, rumour whispers drift like smoke above the stage,
of brilliance lost in chaos, and a final, closing page.
So here I am, a punchline that survived the cutting floor,
a slightly softer dwarf-shaped man who doesn’t dream much more.
But if you ask me softly, I’ll still grin and say it’s true,
even failed fairytale extras get a life beyond the queue.
©ALL COPY RIGHTS REMAINED RESERVED WITH MARIA CLARIDGE 2026